


Marry the Night

by 7_wonders



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: F/M, This is really dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7_wonders/pseuds/7_wonders
Summary: Outpost 3 has never been quiet. When you awake and find that, for the first time in months, there’s nothing but silence, you’re determined to get to the bottom of it. Soon, you’ll wish that you had stayed in bed.
Relationships: Michael Langdon & Reader, Michael Langdon & You, Michael Langdon/Reader, Michael Langdon/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Marry the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends, I really hope you like it; I tried to make it as eerie, sexy, and captivating as I could. Feedback is always appreciated, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

The first sign that something is wrong is the fact that you’re waking up in bed. Considering that what you last remember is enjoying Halloween festivities with the rest of the residents of Outpost 3, this change of scenery is jarring. The second sign is what you’re wearing. In eighteen months of post-apocalyptic living, you’ve worn nothing but various shades of purple. Even at the Halloween party, your 80s prom-inspired dress was a deep violet. Now, you’re clad in a black, off-the-shoulder gown with a lace overlay. Disoriented, you sit up on the bed only to see that this isn’t even your bed. The satin sheets on the large, four-poster bed are far too elaborate for the spartan furnishings you had become so accustomed to.

That’s when the most chilling hint that things are not right hits you. It’s completely, hauntingly silent.

There has always been some sort of noise in the underground bunker. One can hear the same song about a morning after wherever they are, no matter how far it is from the origin in the library. Even if you can manage to tune the music out, grays scurrying about and Ms. Venable’s cane clicking down the cement hallways are other constants. Now, there’s nothing but the sound of your own heart beating loudly in your ears. Gripping the sheets in your hands, you try to make sense of just what the hell is going on.

Memory comes back slowly, fragmented. The Halloween party, of course, but everything seems warped. Faces are too gaunt, teeth too sharp. There was a fight, prior to the party, where Coco had made fun of Mallory in a way that was finally too much for your friend to bear. You had reassured her, telling her that the blonde bitch was destined to be eaten alive by cannibals. Dancing, the song that had become your life soundtrack becoming livelier with the smiles of everybody around you. Bobbing for apples, and the odd excitement of Ms. Venable towards an innocuous kids’ party activity.

After that, it becomes harder to remember. You can only capture flashes, and even then, just feelings instead of events. Pain, confusion, fear, something that you couldn’t quite name. Then, nothing. Whether that’s due to retrograde amnesia or simply because you passed out for whatever reason, you’re not sure. Regardless, all of the memories in the world still can’t explain your change of clothes, or what happened to get you from the library to this bedroom that you’ve never seen before.

A noise shatters the silence you had uneasily become used to, and you jump in fright. It sounds like music, but it’s different from anything you’ve heard since the world ended. Cautiously, you stand up and move to the door, drawn to the haunting melody as if it’s a spell being cast over you.

The soft violin grows louder as you enter the hallway, the dimmed lighting guiding your way as you try to figure out where the eeriness giving you chills is coming from. Although you’re feeling a little too much like a character in a horror movie, there’s too many questions floating around for you to not seek answers. As you round the corner, the confusion only grows.

Langdon, the man who had arrived at Outpost 3 with the sole goal to decide your fates, stands waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. He’s dressed just as elegantly as you, a dark red dinner jacket paired with a black high-necked shirt. It would be almost romantic, were he not so obsessed with you.

Ever since his sudden arrival, he had been far too observant of you. At first, you just assumed he was attempting to get a read on everybody, yourself included. While his constant presence, whether it be in the library or in a secluded area of the halls, was a little stifling, it certainly wasn’t threatening. No, it had only taken that turn after your first interview with him.

_You were visibly tense, body on high-alert as Langdon paced around the room. Whether this was some tactic of his or he was genuinely deep in thought, you couldn’t be sure. Your silent observations were suddenly interrupted when he slammed his hands down on the armrests of the chair you were in, mere inches away from yours._

_“You’re so…modest, so reserved.” His fingers went to caress your cheek, touch just barely there as you recoiled from his overwhelming presence. “Why? Why is it that this virtue is one you’ve managed to keep, even through the end of the world?”_

_It’s not as if you were trying to be modest or virtuous. Rather, you were simply wary of everybody around you, refusing to trust after actual Men in Black hauled you away from everything you ever knew and insisted you should be grateful for being selected to survive._

_“Call it a defense mechanism,” you had responded dryly._

_“Yet you choose to keep those walls up when I, who has specifically instructed you not to lie, am interviewing you to choose whether you live or die?” He had cocked his head, perplexed by the enigma that you were proving to be. “Interesting.”_

_“I haven’t cared about anyone’s opinion for eighteen months; why should I start now?”_

_Langdon’s eyes had sparked with interest. Although you weren’t aware of it on a conscious level, something deep within you knew that you were in for a world of trouble._

From that moment on, his interest had grown until it reached a fever pitch. He was hungry to figure you out, a predator stalking his prey through the lonely rooms of the Outpost. It got to the point where the prickling on the back of your neck, a sure sign that Langdon’s icy blue eyes were watching your every move whether you could see him or not, was nearly constant. The day of Ms. Venable’s Halloween party, however, that prickling had suddenly disappeared.

You had almost missed the uneasy presence that blanketed you for over a week. Staring at Langdon as you slowly descend the stairs, you realize that the foreign feeling you had been experiencing along with the pain and fear in your last clear memory was the prickling on the back of your neck. As he holds a hand out for you, you want to question him, ask him just what is going on. The veil that seems to be distorting your view of the situation, however, prevents that. He smiles, teeth glinting a little too much in the dim candlelight, and disappears right before your hand falls in his.

Blinking twice, you have to make sure that this isn’t some weird dream. A quick pinch on the arm confirms that it’s all too real; either Langdon being here was a mirage, or he quite literally disappeared before your very eyes. Now, not only are you confused, you’re concerned for your sanity. _Maybe spending almost two years in an underground nuclear fallout shelter isn’t conducive to mental health_ , you muse as you resolve to find out just what is going on. The music grows louder as you enter the dining room, the apparent source of this weirdly soothing tune.

Langdon ( _Michael_ , a voice that isn’t yours whispers in your ear) sits at the head of the dining room table, your heart stuttering when your eyes lock on his. His hand, always so elegantly clad in ornate rings, gestures to the seat next to his, which pulls itself away from the table as you approach. When it pushes you closer as you sit down, you don’t bother to question it.

“(Y/N),” your name rolls off of Michael’s tongue like honey, “thank you for joining me for dinner.”

“I…don’t really feel like I had the choice.” Dark red wine sits in a crystal goblet, from which Michael drinks deeply as you take in the spread in front of you. Food of all types is present, from meats to produce to desserts. The decadence of such a meal is one that you’ve become unfamiliar with; hell, you’ve forgotten what actual food even looks like. “Michael, what happened?”

He’s obviously pleased that you innately knew his first name, and you’re entranced by the way he licks a droplet of the wine off of his full bottom lip. “What do you remember?”

“I don’t want to play some stupid guessing game!”

The flames of the candles roar up to the ceiling when he glares at you, making every ounce of courage you had previously held curl up and die. “What do you remember?”

“The party!” you blurt out. “We were at Venable’s Halloween party. Then nothing.”

Michael nods, continuing to study you as you nervously fidget with a cloth napkin in front of you.

“Where’s everybody else? Why is there actual food? Where is that damn music coming from?” You’re still hung up on how the music sounds like it’s coming from surround sound speakers, which is ridiculous since there’s no electricity in the Outpost.

“The others who inhabited this Outpost were simply a distraction. They were properly dealt with, albeit not in the way that I had originally planned.”

Like a tidal wave, knowledge crashes into you and knocks the air out of your lungs. Ms. Venable’s excitement while everybody was bobbing for apples, the pain, the fear. “You killed them,” you breathe out.

“Certainly not, that would be far too messy. I simply pushed Ms. Venable’s malleable mind in the direction that I felt it needed to go.”

“You killed _me_.” You look down at your hands, trying to wrap your mind around everything. “I was dead, but I’m alive now.”

“However much it pained me, it was necessary for you to die in order for you to reach your full potential.”

“Pained you? Pained _you_?” you shout, shoving the chair back and slamming your hands down on the table. “I died! All that pain and confusion and fear, I was the one who experienced that!”

Instead of being angry at your outburst, Michael can only grin. His excitement fuels your temper, and you don’t even realize that glasses along the table are shattering. “Look at this! This is your potential!”

Michael gestures towards the pieces of glass, calmly drinking the rest of his wine amongst the carnage. At this moment, you’ve never wanted to kill a person more.

“What did you do to me?”

“I freed you.” He stands and crosses over to you, fingers grazing your cheek in a way that reminds you of the first time you met him. “My little witch, my Lilith, you have no idea how powerful you are.”

“I’m not some fucking witch,” you say indignantly.

“Of course you wouldn’t know who you are. Even when you were an infant, your power was immense. Your parents were scared, understandably; normal humans cannot understand what is outside the realm of their comprehension. They enlisted the help of a powerful witch to bind your powers, make you ‘normal.’”

“You’re lying.”

“My dear, you think I would lie to you? When my entire mission here was based on the premise of complete honesty?”

An answer you didn’t know you were looking for comes to mind, plucked out of thin air by all-knowing hands, and you bat his touch away. “Funny, coming from the Antichrist.”

Michael nearly glows with pride. “Look at that, two of the Seven Wonders mastered, and you haven’t even accepted what you are.”

Everything’s happening too fast for you to even bother to be scared. “I don’t understand. I’m not a witch, I’m just–”

“Special. Not only are you special, but you’re the single person chosen to accompany me to the Sanctuary. Really, you should be grateful.” He takes a step closer to you, and you find yourself pinned against the wall by an unseen force. “There are big plans for you, my dear. You thought the apocalypse was the end? For you, for us, it’s only the beginning.”

The force keeping you to the wall subsides, and you fall to your knees. Looking up at him through the hair in your face, you can see nothing but triumph on his smug face.

“Pack whatever you deem important. We leave at dawn.” Michael bends to your level, kissing your forehead in a way that makes you shiver. “I do hope you learn to enjoy the various gifts that I have freed for you. It will make life a lot more enjoyable.”

You pound your fists against the stone floor after he’s gone, an anguished yell escaping you. This hell on Earth truly never ends, and the violin, which you had found so soothing less than an hour before, cruelly reminds you of that as it plays its song over and over again.


End file.
